Alixa looked at him. She bit her lip. “What, Jasen?” she asked gently. “What did you say? You mumbled.”
“Something has to be done,” he repeated. He raised his eyes for the first time in—hours, maybe. Maybe days. “This can’t go on. The people out there are scared. They’re angry.”
“You think they did this?” Alixa asked.
“Yes,” said Jasen. He was sure of it, utterly sure. He’d not know who, maybe ever—but someone had set those fires, and not by accident.
Alixa closed her eyes. “Ohh …”
“What do you want to do?” Shilara said.
Jasen pursed his lips.
He thought of the crowd. He’d seen their faces over and over, fighting for dominance with the images of the destruction of his home. Most were indifferent, but a sprinkling of them were pleased this had happened.
Jasen hated each and every one of them.
And yet, at the same time, so awfully conflicting—he could understand. Not totally. But he knew why they felt that way. And perhaps, if it were him, he might feel the same too.
It was a peculiar thought, one of only a few Jasen had experienced in his life that felt particularly adult. He did not like it … but he felt, low in his gut, that it was true.
He should want to spite these people.
Yet they needed hope. They needed saving.
“Shilara,” he said. “The village where you get your whiskey. Where is it?”
She hesitated.
“Please,” he prompted.
“A place called Wayforth,” she said. “And keep your voice down, would you?”
“Is it inhabited?”
Shilara shook her head. “No one left. Scourge cleared them out.”
“So you just … find stores of it?” When Shilara nodded, Jasen continued, “Are there any other stores there, do you know?”
“I haven’t picked over it …”
“But a granary? They’d have one, right?” Or have had, anyway. No one there to lay claim to it anymore.
Shilara nodded again, slow. “Aye. They would.”
“Jasen,” Alixa began.
“We need to go to Wayforth,” said Jasen, “and come back with seed. Plenty of it. Enough to fill the fields here in Terreas. Enough to assuage everyone’s fears.”
“We, I assume,” Shilara began, “includes me.”
“You’re the only one willing to cross the boundary,” said Jasen. “And you know where you’re going. I don’t.”
“‘I’?” Alixa rounded on him. “If you’re going somewhere, you’re not going alone.”
“Alixa—”
“No,” she said, over the top of him. “I will not let you leave me here. If you’re going, I’m going too.”
“It’ll be dangerous,” Jasen warned.
“So?” Alixa said. “I’m brave!”
“I never said you weren’t.”
“I can do this.”
“Take hold of your horses before they carry you away from your senses,” Shilara said. She held up calloused hands to stifle the cousins. “I haven’t said I’m going yet.”
Jasen turned to her. “Will you?”
Shilara pursed her lips in quiet thought.
“Please?” Jasen asked. “Look, I know these people haven’t been very pleasant to you—”
She stared at him stonily. “Downright horrible, most of them. You may have had your house burned today, but they’ve been working on me at a lower level of interest for years.”
“—but they’re afraid. You said yourself: you’re worried about what happens next. Well, what happens after this? And the next thing? If Wayforth has seed, we might have a way to save Terreas.”
“The seed might not be any good,” said Shilara. “If it’s improperly stored …”
“We have to trust they knew what they were doing. They survived for centuries before the scourge came, right?”
“Perhaps.” Shilara’s pursed lips tightened. She looked uncertain, thinking deeply.
“Please, Shilara,” Jasen said. “We can fix this.”
Silence.
Then, glancing between Alixa and Jasen: “Both of you are up for this?”
“Yes,” said Jasen.
“Definitely,” Alixa agreed.
“Then we ought to move swiftly,” said Shilara. The uncertainty was gone from her features instantly. She bore the look now of a woman in command, a sober woman who knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how she wanted it done. “Tensions are high enough here as it is. If we move quickly, we can neuter them before worse damage takes place—or worse, someone is killed over it.”
“Killed?” Alixa cried.
Shilara ignored her. “Wayforth is a few days’ travel. The sooner we set off, the better.”
“So now?” Jasen said, standing.
“No. Too visible. We’ll be gone a while—and no one should know. Not your parents. Not your family,” she said to Alixa. “Not your friends. No one knows about this.”
Jasen nodded quickly.
“Tonight,” said Shilara.
“That’s when we leave?”
“We cannot delay,” she confirmed. “Another week of this, and—well, it might be your place next,” she said to Alixa. “Or the assembly hall.”
“Tonight then,” Jasen agreed. To Alixa: “You in?”
She’d seemed unsure, as though the spell of her professed bravery were wearing off—or maybe that was the worry on her face at the thought of her home being next. But at Jasen’s question, she wiped her expression, replacing it with a determined, steely look. “I’m in.”
“Tonight then,” Shilara echoed. “Meet here. Can you do that?”
Jasen nodded, and saw Alixa do the same out of the corner of his eye.
“What will we need?” Alixa asked.
“Protection. You’ve daggers, yes?” At Alixa’s nod, Shilara went on, “Clothes. Those on your back will likely do. Pack lightly. We won’t be on foot—”
“Are we stealing a horse?” Alixa asked.
Shilara ignored her. “—but we ought to keep supplies to a minimum. Too much to carry, and he’ll tire—”
“Who is he? One of the horses?”
“—and we need room for as much seed as we can carry.”
Jasen nodded, listening raptly, as Shilara continued thinking aloud to herself.
Tonight, he thought.
Tonight he would leave Terreas, crossing the boundary once again, and willingly.
They’d face scourge, perhaps in untold numbers.
Might they die?
Jasen didn’t know. He didn’t care. Terreas needed help, badly—
And it was he, Alixa, and Shilara who would save it.
16
Jasen was numb.
He supposed Adem felt much the same.
The Weltans had invited them to stay. Not forever of course, though that was unsaid; this would not, could not be the arrangement forever. The Weltan house was large, but between Jasen’s four cousins, his aunt and uncle, and of course Sidyera, who watched haughtily from the doorway to her room, where the curtains were forever drawn but who at least did not say anything—between everyone, adding two new bodies to this house was impossible.
Aunt Margaut had done her best to take care of them.
“Make yourselves comfortable, please,” she said, ushering them into the living room. “Morrys, move for your uncle and cousin, would you?” She waved the youngest of the boys—though older still than Alixa by a year—out of the seat he’d been perched upon, watching his family with unrestrained interest.
He obeyed but went only as far as the hearth, where he stood and watched Jasen lower himself onto a seat with plush cushions, as if these people were wild beasts he’d never set eyes on before, rather than blood relatives.
Jasen’s bottom touched the plush fabric, nicer than the seats at home—or that had been in his home, this morning—
A pang of sorrow went through him.
“We can’t,” said Adem. “The soot—”
Jasen leapt up, and swiveled to stare with horror where he’d touched down. True enough, a dark stain of soot marked where he’d been. The fabric was dyed a light pinkish sort of color, embroidered with orange, blue, purple and yellow flowers. All bright, in other words—and Jasen’s imprinted backside was stark.
“It’ll come out,” Margaut said kindly. But her lips had thinned, and she did not smile as her gaze took in the sight of the cushion.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why don’t you change?” Aunt Margaut said. She was still staring at the mark on her chair. Morrys, over her shoulder, had seen it too, and kept looking dramatically back and forth between the dirtied fabric and Jasen. Jasen doubted the boy’s eyes could get any bigger.
“Jasen, you’re about Morrys’s size; he’ll have something for you. Morrys, go help him find a change of clothes, please, will you? Adem, come with me. I’m sure Davyd will have something. He’s a little broader than you, so it may be a little loose, but maybe I could pin back …”
They disappeared, leaving Jasen with Morrys.
Morrys stared.
“Um …” Jasen hesitated. “Do you want me to …”
Morrys jerked into motion, waving for Jasen to follow. He said not one word though, neither then as he led, or when he brought Jasen to his bedroom, which he shared with Stephan, nineteen and not home. Morrys didn’t say anything as he found clothes for Jasen to wear, too; just looked through his drawers, and thrust out a change of trousers and tunic.
“I, err … I think I need to go wash up first,” said Jasen. “I don’t want to make your things dirty.”
Morrys just nodded. He opened his mouth, breathing in as though he might say something, but did not.
Jasen extricated himself, promising he’d be back for the clothes shortly, and made his way outside. A pair of water barrels stood side by side ahead of a trough. The sun had been out enough lately to clear most of what normally filled it, leaving a greyish-white water line against the stone. Jasen pumped the water into the trough, then washed his hands, vigorously combing his fingers across to ease out the caked-in soot. It took an age; the water ran dark, very dark, for long minutes, and still his fingers weren’t clean.
When he bowed his head under, he bit back a curse. The trough was halfway filled, and the neighbor’s dog strolled up to drink out of it. Dogs didn’t know better than to avoid murky water like this, and even if they did, he didn’t wish to have to apologize to another of the Weltans as they pretended like it was all okay, faces strained at the sight of Jasen’s dirty water.
He pumped one last time with wrinkled fingers, and muscled the trough around. Then he resumed cleaning himself, at least as best he could.
Finally, when his hair was sopping and stuck to his head, and water had run down his tunic and glued it to his back, he surveyed what he’d done. Dirty water muddied the ground beneath him, but only on the surface; the earth was hard, and after a week of baking in the sun and not a drop of rain, the water couldn’t penetrate too deeply.
He shoved the trough over with much effort, emptying it entirely. Then he filled the bottom, sloshed it around with his fingers to clean off the black particulates, and emptied it again—easier this time, now it was lighter. Then he shoved it back into place, moving it one side after another. The exertion made him sweat—it really was a heavy thing, thick and all stone—but he was wet already, and about to change.
He dried off with his clothes, stripping down to his underclothes by the vineyard, and keeping a close eye about to make sure no one saw. His underclothes were damp at the top around the back, from where the water had run down his body, but no matter.
Creeping back into the house, he was fortunate to dodge most everyone—
Except Morrys, who he almost collided with as he re-entered his bedroom.
Morrys’s eyes almost fell out of his head.
“Sorry,” Jasen breathed, and snatched up the change of clothes from Morrys’s dresser. “Just changing!” And off he dashed, slipping through the nearest door.
Adem’s scavenged clothes were too big for him. Margaut did her best, but they still dwarfed his frame even after being pinned back.
Fortunately, Sidyera was there to proffer wisdom.
“Yes, too big, much too big,” she mused, as if that were not remotely obvious to everyone. The spindly woman tugged at fabric, running fingers that seemed far too long across the folds. Her lips puckered, as if she’d eaten something almost unbearably sour—and though Jasen did not stand too near, he detected the same sort of odor he’d smelled on Abel and Maude this morning. Musty again—from being shut up too long. Did she step outside for more than a half-hour each day? If her time in the sun was half of that, Jasen would be surprised.
“I’d have to turn it in here,” she droned, indicating places with rough touches. Adem bore them; Jasen was not sure he could have managed the same. “Lose some of the material here, I think—cut it out, I imagine, just down here … oh, but this will need refolding, Margaut, I can’t take it in the way it is now. You’ve done your best, I know, but it’s not quite perfect. See down here? I’d need to lift this fold, adjust it like so … then I can—”
“Ouch,” Adem hissed, flinching.
“Stabbed you, did I?” Sidyera said, brandishing the offending pin. “Go on, Margaut, you do it.”
“Davyd will be back in another couple of hours,” said Margaut. “I’m sure he’d be happy to give you some things, just to help tide you over.” She didn’t sound it, and sure enough: “It would probably be best to visit the tailor, of course …”
“No need to visit the tailor, no need,” said Sidyera. “I can do it all here. I’ve the tools. And Alixa might help. She is slow, but gaining precision, yes …”
“I’ll take a visit to the tailor tomorrow,” said Adem to Margaut. “Thank you for helping me in the interim.”
Sidyera make a noise that suggested she was not well pleased. Nevertheless, she went on fussing, patting almost every inch of Adem. Jasen admired how he could ignore her like that, going on talking softly to Margaut … but this was perhaps one way in which he did not desire to be more like his father.
The evening’s meal was an awkward affair. To start, there were not quite enough seats about the table, so two extra had to be fetched. They did not match the others, which seemed to cause Margaut and Davyd pain. Jasen’s was also quite small. A seat from Morrys’s room, Jasen recalled seeing it in his cousin’s childhood. Painted bright blue, although now beginning to chip on hard edges, it was a good four inches shorter than the other chairs. Jasen took it at Alixa’s side, squeezing in a gap where a person should not be positioned, and came up far below her even sitting as straight as he could.
Sidyera was opposite. She seemed to leer down at him, although she was not a great deal taller than Jasen.
“Terrible business,” said Davyd. He shook his head. “Truly awful. So unfortunate.”
These were the platitudes repeated again and again. Adem would get drawn in, and for a time they’d discuss what had been lost, whether the assembly might be able to help, if Adem’s position would ease that process. Adem was weary though, and none of Jasen’s cousins knew what to say (especially Morrys; Jasen hadn’t heard even a word from him still). Sidyera, normally so disposed to lecture, appeared to have lost her voice … or, Jasen thought, she had been neutered: he’d caught Margaut having a quiet word with her in the kitchen, something that sounded much like a request to be gentle with Jasen and his father today. She’d obliged, though her puckered lips grew tighter by the hour, and the lines spreading farther across her cheeks. Jasen wasn’t sure how long she could hold it. Until dawn, possibly—sleep would help with that. But another evening? Surely not.
So silence reigned, for a time … and then Margaut or Davyd would repeat that meaningless phrase yet again.
Did they think pointing out how terrible it was would take it away? Make it be
tter somehow, that their lives had been lost to smoke and flame, dusted across Terreas as ash?
His mother had once described to him the purpose of a yawn, when he’d asked, inquisitive as four-year-olds often were. She said it was to signal other humans—because humans, like simpler creatures, were animals too, and had their own tics that went unnoticed, often understood, but communicated ever more strongly than words.
Perhaps these words from his aunt and uncle were the same sorts of signals? A sign that they felt it too, this pain that would come, but which was presently a numb buzz in Jasen’s chest, not fully comprehended.
He felt, sitting there and pushing stewed carrots and beef about his plate, that perhaps he had stumbled on some greater truth of humanity, but could not sufficiently grasp even a fraction of it. And that part he had?
He hated it.
The evening drew on for much too long. The Weltans continued to offer company and more empty condolences. There were more silences then, and they grew both longer and more suffocating as the candles on the mantel burned down and the streaks of color in the sky vanished into black.
Finally, yet too soon, it was time to retire.
Margaut yawned. Davyd had gone to bed already. Margaut had stayed up, looking anxious. Her hands gripped each other, and she’d been watching her knuckles for the best part of half an hour. Every time she’d spoken, she lifted her head as if she’d been unceremoniously roused from a deep sleep, falling back into it when the short exchange had ended.
“I really should turn in,” she said carefully.
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Adem. He’d gone fairly still himself this past half-hour, staring into the nothingness just above his chest where he reclined, leaned back as far as he’d go. Now he sat forward, blinking in a daze. “It is late.”
“Mm,” Margaut murmured. “Are you … do you mind sleeping in here? I have blankets; I’ll just go grab them for you.” And off she went, a little too quickly.
A Haven in Ash (A Sanctuary Series) (Ashes of Luukessia Book 1) Page 14